


There's Something Good About It

by adastra615



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Hurt, Injury, M/M, Pining Oswald, Violence, Whump, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort?, oswald gets the shit kicked out of him what's new?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:52:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adastra615/pseuds/adastra615
Summary: Oswald and Edward and copious amounts of angst and injury.Takes place somewhere near the end of Season 4.





	There's Something Good About It

**Author's Note:**

> The full quote from the title is, "I can feel the hurt. There's something good about it. Mostly it makes me stop remembering." - Albert Borris

Oswald bit down on his lip tasting blood and hissed in pain. There was always someone ready in Gotham to take a baseball bat to your knee, and he’d been the unlucky recipient of just such an amateur batter after walking out once again – what was new – on Ed’s newest, dumbest – _my god the man could be such an idiot for being a self-proclaimed genius_ , he thought – scheme. His tongue half down Lee’s throat. He hated him.

The object of his hatred was pulling him up the stairs of his own mansion and into his living room. There was a still a few dull coals smoldering in the fireplace. And behind Ed, Lee was following. He hated them both. He hated them both so much, that if he could walk – if it wasn’t for the fact that every time he tried to take a step that the breath hitched in his lungs, and his vision swirled, and his already battered leg couldn’t support his weight at all – he would have killed them both.

A little weak part of him – some lovesick part of him he couldn’t squelch entirely – told him it wasn’t true. He hated that part of himself almost as much as the man who had his arm wrapped around Oswald’s side. Was asking him riddle after riddle for no god damned reason other than to keep him awake and talking, even though it was just a leg injury, and he was no stranger to pain, but this was different, this was white hot agony that radiated from his knee down to his ankle. The daily pain of his twisted ankle was nothing compared to this, and he wanted to collapse, but he couldn’t, he had to remain vigilant.

 Ed would betray him again, there was no second guessing that. It was a fact. Ed could not be trusted. Ed had Lee. Ed would betray her too, and if he could, he would turn, he would sneer at her and laugh and not give a reason, because he knew what would happen eventually. He tried to shove Ed away when he was close enough to the couch that he knew he could hobble there on his own.

“Let go of me,” he said and struggled free. “I didn’t ask you to help me. Why the hell are you still here?”

“Why _are_ we here?” Lee said and moved her eyes around the room. “Really cheery place.”

“Oh and the narrows is fucking Disneyland,” Oswald bit out.

“Look there’s a difference between living in a place out of necessity and choosing this as an aesthetic.”

Oswald sank into the couch but yelped in pain when he jarred his leg.

“We didn’t want to leave you in the alley,” Ed said and Oswald tried to read his expression, but that was the thing about him.

“ _Edward_ didn’t want to leave you in the alley,” Lee corrected.  

Ed was always unreadable. That was the most dangerous power someone could have. There was still a part of him that in some way felt responsible for him. For him becoming what he had, but he didn’t want him anymore. If he’d made Ed into the Riddler, if he had formed that true potential and brought it forth it had been a masochistic act on his behalf, because the man had only brought him pain since.  Still a part ached for him. His arm wrapped around his side – that small amount of contact – of kindness he wanted to say, but knew there was some ulterior motive – there was some reason for it and he was sure he would find out soon, if only the pounding in his knee would stop and he could think. He reached for the tumbler of whisky he kept on the black lacquered table in front of the couch and poured himself shakily a few fingers worth. He almost dropped it when he brought it to his lips.

Lee had said something about it being too cold and damp in here like some disgusting lair and went over to tend the fire.

Ed moved closer, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Like approaching some feral animal.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed.

“I’m not going to do anything to hurt you.”

Oswald laughed- the sound catching in his throat – against the burn of the whiskey. “Your brain must really be addled if you think I’m going to believe that.” Oswald said, wheezing a bit around his words, hating how he sounded and the small twitch that pulled at Ed’s mouth. He wished he could hit him.

“I mean it.” He hesitated. “This time I mean it.”

“You don’t mean anything you say. You never have. I’ve trusted you one too many times and I’m done. So whatever the hell you want this time, just take it and leave me alone.” 

“I can’t leave you here like this, Oswald.”

“It’s never stopped you before. Half the time you’re the one that’s the cause of it.” He downed the liquor and reached for the tumbler again. His shaking fingers splashing some of it onto the couch. “And why is she here,” he nearly shouted, his throat feeling raw from screaming in the alley and the whiskey only causing it to burn more – soon though it would numb everything and then he’d be able to think.

“Lee’s here because she can help.”

“Oh no. No. No. There’s no way I’m letting her anywhere near me.”

“Oswald, she can fix your leg.”

Lee turned back to face them. “I never agreed to that. I don’t want to touch the little maniac.”

“Then both of you get the hell out.” He could feel the alcohol working on his sore muscles, lessening the pain in his leg to something almost bearable as long as he stayed seated. Ed’s hand came down to rest on top his knee as he swiveled on his heel and sat down next to Oswald. Oswald tried to pull away, but he let out a gasp as he jarred his leg, and his nerves were alight again. His vision darkened and he caught Ed’s face through the receding flashes of light that lingered in his vision. Distant and out of focus like sinking through the fetid waters off of some non-descript harbor in Gotham. Knowing that the one person he had trusted - had given himself to had only used him, shot him in the gut and left him for dead. His heart pounded heavily in his chest along with the pulse in his leg.  A kick of adrenaline coursed through his veins, he tried to stand, tried to get away, his feet tangling, something grinding in his leg, a pop like a tendon tearing and he was on the floor, but he reached for his cane that had been resting against the table. Ed stood up over him. His hands were up – striking or pleading or anywhere in-between. But it could have been either and Oswald wouldn’t have cared. Like being born down upon by something that only wanted to kill him – like everything seemed to – a smack across his already smarting face, a punch to the gut, a gunshot wound from someone he loved, a kick to the teeth – cementing the idea in his mind over and over again that no one could be trusted, no one was worth loving – no one would ever love him.

He brought the cane up with as much force as he could muster and whacked it against the side of Ed’s jaw. It smacked him with a resounding thud, but the force and the angle caused Oswald to drop it and it fell against the hardwood. Oswald tried to scramble backwards expecting retaliation.

Ed dropped to his knees holding his jaw. Lee was halfway across the room and he saw the glint of a scapel in her hand, catching the fire behind.

His breathing was loud in his own head. He was against the wall, his leg a screaming mass of pain, and he looked around frantically. He’d dropped his knife in the alley, he remembered his attacker kicking it, grabbing him by the throat, like Lee was about to. And then Ed was in front of him. One hand cradling his jaw and the other putting up a hand to stop Lee. “Don’t,” he said. It came out muffled like one side of his face must already be swelling.

“I had it handled,” Oswald said, but the words died in his throat, tears pricking his eyes and he gulped back a sudden rush of emotion he couldn’t explain. Ed with his stupid beautiful face and cracked jaw protecting him. Was Ed going to turn around and finish him off himself? Would he welcome it? He almost thought he would. The laugh caught in his throat and could have been a sob. Everything hurt so much.

“Stop protecting him. He’s a psychopath. We would have done Gotham a favor leaving him in the alley.”

The adrenaline was leaving his body, making him feel dazed and unreal, as if watching two people discuss something unrelated to him.

Ed’s arm slowly closed around Oswald’s body, and he gave in, resting his chin against his shoulder. The purple bruise from his cane stark against Ed’s sallow skin, visible only slightly from Oswald angle. He recognized his smell, warmly familiar, and he closed his eyes. It was hard to fight back the sob, but he did, because he knew Ed wasn’t really hugging him, just lifting him from the floor. He wasn’t really cradling the back of his head. He was just being pragmatic, he was just keeping him from slumping backwards, turning him so he could slide his arm down to rest against Oswald’s side to keep him upright. None of it meant anything to Ed, even if it could have meant the world to Oswald. He wouldn’t let it. He wouldn’t allow it. Not again. He thought he heard a door slam.

“Lee’s gone,” Ed said. Oswald didn’t know how to interpret his tone of voice. It was the same old Ed, inscrutable. He helped him back to the couch.

“I’ll get us some ice.”

Oswald watched with a sick satisfaction as Ed ran his tongue over the side of his mouth where Oswald had hit him. He scrunched up his face and let out a hiss of pain.

“I guess I deserved it,” Ed said.

Oswald couldn’t believe he’d admitted it. “Yes, you did. You really did.”

With a sigh Ed put a pillow under Oswald’s leg, he almost screamed when Ed moved it, but managed not to.

Ed came back holding two sagging half frozen bags of vegetables. “Peas or carrots?”

“Peas, they drape better,” Oswald said with resignation.

Ed put the bag of peas – Oswald couldn’t fathom where they’d come from - over Oswald’s leg where they settled evenly and stayed put. “I see what you mean,” Ed said putting the bag of carrots against his jaw. “About the draping, I mean. Do you have a bibliographic knowledge of which frozen vegetables best complement which injuries?”

“If I do, it’s because I have you to thank for it.”

Ed snorted.

“We must be a real sight,” Oswald said feeling giddy. “Dressed to the nines and ready to impress for a night out on the town.” The world spun, and he realized that Ed had shifted so that Oswald’s head was resting against his thigh. His fingers were absently tangling through Oswald’s hair. It felt good, it hurt. That was just about par for being near Ed. _I hate you_ , he thought. _I hate you. I hate you._ Don’t leave, he wanted to say.  He said neither, just let Ed run his fingers through his hair. Pretended he would stay.

**Author's Note:**

> I love these two, but I don't know if they can be together in any other way, honestly. I'll be curious to see what happens in season 5. Anyway thanks for reading. This is my first story in the Gotham fandom. I'm a sucker for Oswald and I guess Oswald getting the shit kicked out of him *shrugs* so you might see me again in the future with something similar, happier? more resolved maybe? I'll have to see how season 5 resolves. 
> 
> If you're so inclined, let me know what you thought! Reviews always make me happy. :)
> 
> I'm always happy to take requests as well for hurt or hurt/comfort stories if you have something in mind.


End file.
